Peyote and shaggy artists

MH delivered a book last weekend that, in a masterful karmic coincidence, describes a Hudson-down-the-road via its sketch of current-day Provincetown.

Michael Cunningham's love letter to the sea-side almost-art-colony and bastion of individual freedoms: Land's End, A Walk through Provincetown, seems to describe a kissing cousin of the Hudson I visited last week: a cousin further along, with good and bad habits well-entrenched, but of the same stock nevertheless.

Describing Provincetown today, tipped well-past its Eugene O'Neil heyday:
"Provincetown today is something like an elderly bohemian who once knew people of great influence, who still dresses eccentrically, still lives in defiant poverty, still paints or sculpts with heroic optimism, and flirts only on bad days with bitterness about having been gifted and dedicated and having been left behind."

Just the sort of elder you'd want around to tell tall tales over generously poured drinks. I would hope the same for Hudson, but its adolescence is also captivating.

C